Picking up

I slept early, and by the time I got up it was half past six in the morning. My eyes were tired, and my head still reeling from dreams and images, some very difficult to remember, difficult to let go of. Two goodbyes in a week. It is hard for anyone.

Mum arrived safely in Europe, and is now with my brother. I got up, but found it hard to pry myself out of bed, despite the gorgeous weather. The cat was still asleep, I walked into the bedroom mum slept in, and it was empty. A few packets of her medicine had been left behind on the table. A travel guidebook lay next to the pillow she slept on. I had gotten used to seeing her on the bed in the morning, and now she is gone.

I had wanted to clean the  house, but was lost where to start. I was even lost what to eat, for when mum was around, I would prepare lots of fruits and vegetables and healthy foods to make sure she eats well. But not that she is not around, I seem to have lost appetite.

In a way, I am afraid of shifting through the pieces of paper and receipts, the brochures, and finally sorting out the suitcases I had put away since we got back to Montreal three weeks ago. There have been many memories, many beautiful ones, but also difficult and testing ones. Not just of my time with mum, but also of events before that, before I left here. I have been away from my life for two months, and it is hard to pick up the pieces and try to put everything back together again.

But I need to, I need to for myself. I need to pick up the pieces of my life where I left off abruptly back in May, and start to rebuild my life. Clean out the clutter, remove the lingering sadness and memories, and start life fresh, determined to be happy and at ease with being alone.